


The King and the Halfling

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dragon Eggs, Goldsickness, Multi, Unhealthy Attitudes, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield works as a blacksmith in The Shire, trying to cope with a new nomadic way of life after the loss of his home, Erebor, when he finds a young Bilbo Baggins, injured in the woods. After a number of occurrences as time passes, Thorin decides that it might be time to try and reclaim his homeland, and he sets off with Bilbo Baggins in tow, regardless of his suggestions otherwise. </p><p>Now with an extra scene at the end in The Halls of Waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The King Under the Stolen Mountain finds a Hobbit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kit_Kat92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat92/gifts).



> Sorry this took so long to get round to, I've been desperately trying to finish uni assignments, as the way it usually is in my life. Hopefully it won't be such a long wait for the next chapter (I'm working on it now!).

Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Stolen Mountain was certain he would never understand Hobbits.  Odd creatures they were, with their gentle manner and trivial ways. But they were in need of his services, and he was making a fair amount of coin out of those needs, so he had no real need to complain. He had enough to maintain his own state of being, as well as both his sister-sons. Things were good. Well, as good as they can be for a King without a kingdom.

But this was no time to muse these sorts of things. He was far too in his cups to be thinking about such things. Too much ale always made him rather lament for his old style of life, for his people and their culture and the loss of what was once their home.

He was so lost in his own thoughts, trying to disentangle his moroseness that he almost did not hear the small whimpering through the trees.

Peering through the underbrush, he found a small figure huddled into itself at the base of a tree, trying desperately to block the cold out. A Hobbit child.

“Halfling,” Thorin knelt down, gently pressing a hand against the creature’s side. “Are you alright?” The Hobbit appeared to be too cold to answer, instead its teeth chattered and it blinked up at him with bright eyes. “Are you hurt?” he shifted to move the Hobbit but it whimpered in pain, curling away from him. Thorin could see blood along its trousers. “Come now,” he wrapped his arms around the child, picking is up and carrying it back towards the pathway. “We’ll get you somewhere warm and take a look at that leg.” Surely the boy’s parents were nearby. He spent most of his time running after two little Dwarflings, but he’d never lost one before. Well, not for that long, anyway.

“Uncle,” Fili whined as soon as he heard the door open, “Kili-” he cut himself short when he caught sight of the creature in Thorin’s arms. “Who’s that?”

“What? What is it? What’s happening?” Kili poked his head around the doorway. “Did you steal a baby?!”

“I did not steal a baby.” Thorin replied irritably. “Now do something useful and get some warm water and a cloth.” He set the child down in front of the fire. “Now come on,” he urged him. “It’s fine. Let me have a look at your leg.” The creature hesitated. “I’ll make it better, I promise.”

Hesitating and watching him with careful, wide eyes, the Halfling slowly released its own leg, stretching it out for Thorin to look at. Thorin pulled up the leg of the trousers, revealing torn and bruised flesh. “Must have had a fall,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “How long have you been out there?” The creature gave no reply, and Thorin wondered if it even spoke. He knew nothing of the cognitive developments of Hobbits, and tough Dwarven children were already doing much by this age, it may not be the same for this species.

“Let me try,” Fili informed, kneeling beside him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked now. “Do you live anywhere near here?” The Hobbit gave no reply. Fili heaved a sigh. “Do you know where your parents are?”

“You’re going about it the wrong way.” Kili scolded, coming into the room now with a steaming bowl of water.

“Oh, and you can do better.”

“Yes.” He set the bowl down beside them and turned to the child. “I’m Kili. Ignore my family, they’re pretty stupid.” The child just looked up at him with the same wide eyes.

“Told you,” Fili teased now.

“Shut up.” He snapped at his brother. “Now,” he turned his attention back to the child, “Now I don’t know about you, but I’d be hungry if I were out there for as long as you look like you have. How about some food?” The child perked up significantly, nodding eagerly. “Right, well I’ll get something for you to eat.” He shot Fili a triumphant look as he went into the kitchen.

Thorin gently pressed the warm cloth onto the child’s wounded leg, catching him as he twisted in pain. “You have to stay still or it will hurt more,” he insisted. “Really. It’ll be quicker if you stay still.” He obeyed, but remained looking very uncomfortable.

“I’m Fili.” His nephew said now, in order to distract the child. “What’s your name?” He waited patiently, as the Halfling hesitated, still cautious of the strangers.

“Bilbo.” He said eventually, voice awfully small.

“Bilbo? Well, hello Bilbo.” Fili grinned at him. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

“Do you live near here?” Kili asked, coming into the room again, a steaming pot of stew in his hands. “Your parents?”

“Bag End,” the boy murmured, his gaze locked on his feet.

“Bag End?” Kili repeated.

“I think I know where that is.” Thorin said now, recalling something familiar about the words. “We can return you to your parents once you’ve had something to eat.”

Kili offered the bowl to him and the creature took it in his small hands, trying to balance it and eat at the same time. Thorin had never before felt so drawn to another, especially one that was not his own kind. Though, he supposed, children evoked that response. It was a paternal thing, an instinct so old and deeply buried inside him that it was part of who he was. Children were rare to Dwarves, as their pregnancies were tough and almost unbearable. So naturally he would feel the need, feel compelled to care for this child, even if it were not his own.

“Do you know the way home?”  Thorin asked, watching as the Halfling sniffled and nodded. “Good. We’ll get you back to your parents soon. I’m sure they’re worried sick.” He turned to Fili. “You two ought to finish your chores. I’ll return him.”

“Oh, but-”

“Now.” Fili looked a little let down, but heaved a sigh and followed his brother out of the room nonetheless.  He was watching them depart when he was startled by the feel of a soft hand against his own. He glanced down to see the Hobbit, Bilbo, touching the scars on his palms.

“Hurt?” he wondered, inspecting them closely and curiously.

“Work.” He explained, pulling his hand away. “I’m a blacksmith... in the forges, uh...” he gestured vaguely, trying to think of a way to explain, “Fire... metal.”

“Fire?” Bilbo repeated, eyes wide. Thorin nodded and watched as the child seemed to consider something, before eagerly pulling his sleeve up to reveal a nasty looking scar along his elbow. He offered his arm for Thorin’s inspection. “Fire,” he explained.

“Well, looks like we have something in common.” Bilbo smiled up at him, seeming to like the idea. “Come on,” he got to his feet, knees crackling painfully, and winced as he spoke. “We’d better get you home.”

 

 

 


	2. A Problem

Bilbo Baggins had a slight problem. He had no trousers on.

Usually this wouldn’t be a problem; however it wasn’t very well looked upon when you weren’t wearing trousers in public. He had his robe on, of course. He wouldn’t have left the house without it- and he was only going to check the garden... but the door had locked, and he’d been stuck outside in the chilly morning with no more than his sleep dress and thin robe.

How embarrassing.

He heard the chuckling, round the bushes at the front of the house, and frowned, trying his best to ignore the burning tips of his ears.

“Stop laughing!” he hissed, pulling on the too-large trousers Fili had gotten for him. “Can you just work on opening the door? You _are_ a blacksmith.”

“I could just kick down the door, if you’d prefer...” he suggested.

“I would not enjoy that, and I don’t think my door would either. It’s just been painted.” He winced at the idea of the lovely freshly coated wood crackling and splintering under pressure. What a waste that would be.

“You Hobbits have no idea of style or design.” Fili muttered through the bushes as Bilbo valiantly failed in attempting to lace the trousers up. “I could break that wood with one good kick. It’s hardly impenetrable.”

“Hobbits have no need for impenetrable barricades in our homes.” Bilbo informed Fili now. “We do not have wars, nor do we have enemies.” Though the Sackville-Bagginses were pretty close to that. “We hardly know a soul out of The Shire.”

He could all but hear Fili rolling his eyes. “Are you decent yet?”

Bilbo huffed and stepped around the bushes, coming into Fili’s line of sight. “I am.” He replied tightly, giving him a stony look from over the fence. Most of the effect was lost, however, because Fili was too busy laughing at the absurdity of his outfit.

“You look ridiculous,” he cackled incessantly.

“Oh, yes, yes, I know that,” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Could you just help me, please? I have no wish to be embarrassed any more this morning.”

Fili tried to sober himself, holding his sides as if he were about to fall apart from the laughter. “Alright, alright,” he breathed through his paroxysms. “I’ll set about it.”

Bilbo relaxed a little, hands dropping from his sides. “Thank you.”

“You just sit,” he gestured to the bench outside the front door. “I’ll have you inside in no time.”

Bilbo hoped so. He still had the kettle on.

 

* * *

 

“I think I at least deserve breakfast in return for my skills.” Fili announced, peering over Bilbo’s shoulder as he finished with the eggs he was cooking.

“You were going to get food regardless. You’re far too unrelenting for your own good.”

“I am when it comes to food.” Fili agreed with a nod, grinning eagerly when Bilbo offered him a plate.

“Don’t you have work to get to soon?”

“I do. But I think I can squeeze your species Second breakfast in. I’m rather fond of the Hobbit culture.”

“Of course you are,” Bilbo replied with an eye roll. “Now hurry up and eat your bacon and eggs. I’ll go to town with you when we’re done.” He was in need of a few bits and bobs.

“Well, just make sure you don’t lock yourself out again.” He pointed a fork at Bilbo. “I don’t work for free more than once, you know.”

“Typical Dwarf,” Bilbo settled down across from him and got stuck into eating.

He’d known the Durin family for most of his life, and had been close to them ever since he’d been carried to their home late one night after getting lost and falling in the woods, injuring himself.

They’d become even closer after his parents had died, not two years ago. He’d been barely considered an adult when he got the news- a band of Men had ambushed them on their way to Bree, killing them and stealing their possessions. Bilbo had been heartbroken, and Bag End had seemed a desolate, empty sort of place... so he’d filled it with conversation and laughter with Fili and Kili and their Dwarven friends who visited and their Uncle Thorin. Though Thorin didn’t laugh all that much, he just sort of looked at whoever was speaking and remained stoic. But Thorin had smiled once or twice at something he had said, which Bilbo prided himself on. Not many people could make Thorin Oakenshield smile.

Or at least, that was what he was told.

Bilbo finished breakfast quickly before rushing into his bedroom and yanking on some clothes while Fili polished off what was left on his plate. Then they left, walking towards town, smiling and waving at the few Hobbits who didn’t think it was scandalous for a Hobbit and a Dwarf to be acquainted or even friends.

“I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up, and they won’t be so... _frown-y_.” Fili scoffed now, watching as an elderly couple looked at them scornfully as they passed.

“You forget that Hobbits can be just as stubborn as Dwarves can.”

“I suppose,” Fili chuckled.

The forge was radiating heat and blowing out steam by the time they got there, having been opened in the early hours in the morning before any reasonable creature would be awake.

But of course, there Thorin was, hammering away at Valar knows what, looking wide awake while Kili was all but snoring across the room from him, leaning against the wall.

“Sorry I’m late,” Fili announced, grabbing a leather apron and slipping it on. “Bilbo needed help with something.”

Thorin gave them both a polite nod, opting not to speak, and returned to his hammering.

“I suppose I’ll go get to the market, then.” Bilbo ambled around for a little more, feeling a bit useless, before he took his leave.

Fili cleared his throat awkwardly once Bilbo was out of sight, punching his brother in the shoulder to wake him up. “Smooth move, Uncle.” he scoffed now.

“Shut up.” Thorin frowned down at the anvil in front of him. “And get to work, you two.”

 

 

 


	3. An Unexpected Letter

For a King, Thorin Oakenshield wasn’t really very good at conversing with others. In fact, to be honest, he hated almost everyone he met. Those he did form bonds with, however, were strong friends and confidants. He either had enemies or best friends, there was no in-between.

So within the first week of living in The Shire, he had known he wasn’t going to be anything like the socialite Hobbits liked to be. And that hadn’t changed over the past ten years. He’d grown resigned to the fact that he wasn’t as charming as his father had been, though as of late it was become a slightly irritating fact for him to be reminded of.

Case in point.

“Can’t you be nicer?” Bilbo asked him now, hands on his hips and a frown on his face. “If you didn’t scare them so much with your constant glower you’d get a whole lot more customers.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what to say in reply. To be honest, he never really knew what to say in reply to Bilbo when he was mad... though he’d never admit it, certainly not to Bilbo, or his nephews.

“It doesn’t matter if they like me,” he finally managed eventually, managing to sound kingly, though he hardly felt so. “They come back because I do a fair job for a fair price. My demeanour has nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t know how you Dwarves do things back in your _mountains_ ,” Bilbo scoffed now, “but here, we certainly find it offensive and highly distasteful for someone to act that way when they’re selling a service.”

Thorin just rolled his eyes and turned back to his work. “Then they’ll have to grow up and get over it,” he muttered, bringing his hammer down on the anvil. “You Hobbits find the most trivial things important.”

“That is because when you add all the trivial things up they become incredibly important. Two hundred small, bad things about a person will make them infinitely worse than one big bad quality. And you wonder why no one invites you around for elevensies.”

“You invite us around for elevensies.” Kili replied, looking confused.

“I don’t count. I’m hardly a respectable Hobbit, am I?” he gestured down at his outfit. “I don’t even wear collar stays.” Thorin certainly couldn’t give half a damn about collar stays.

“We don’t either,” Fili glanced down at his own clothing, looking a little self-conscious.

“Yes, but you’re a Dwarrow,” Bilbo replied, as if it were obvious, “so it’s expected of you. You’re allowed to live up to their poor expectations. I’m a Baggins.”

“You say that all the time,” Kili informed him now, “and I’m still not quite sure what that means.”

“It means that Hobbits are odd creatures with strange behaviours.” Thorin announced gruffly. “And we need to get back to work.”

Fili and Kili straightened immediately, setting about their chores while Bilbo sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I suppose I’ll go, then,” he pushed off of the counter and walked towards the door. “But you’ll be over for supper, though?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Kili chirruped, flashing his usual eager smile in Bilbo’s direction. Bilbo gave a friendly grin back and Thorin began to hammer just a little harder.

 

* * *

 

He opted to return home briefly, unlike Fili and Kili who went straight to Bag End, to set a few things in order before going over himself. Letters brushed against his boots upon opening the door, and he bent down to pick up what had been slotted through the door. Most of the letters were the usual: friends and family informing him on what was going on in the Blue Mountains and Iron Hills, rumours about the Elves, updates on his people and their struggles. There was one, however, at the bottom of the pile. A heavy, thick looking envelope. He weighed it in his hand considering before ripping it open. The words were written in heavy ink, the letters as bold and dark as their intended meaning.

 

**Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Lonely Mountain,**

**I regret the time that has lapse since I have last written to you, circumstances being as they are I believe you will understand. My heart is heavy and I find great regret in having to inform you that upon a quest through the Mines of Moria, we found the body of your father Thrain. He was lain among many Orc bodies and as we thought that unfitting for a Durin we have taken his body to the Iron Hills and wait for your response on where he should be laid to rest.**

**We found this among his effects, and I believe it has some importance, so I have sent it with this letter. I have also written to your sister, although I believed you may have wished to be the one to inform her, so you will also find this enclosed. You may choose to send it to her with your own letter, or by itself. It is, of course, your choice.**

**I offer my strongest and most sincere condolences in this loss in your kin, and we all grieve with you in this dark time for our people.**

**Signed,**

**_Dain II Ironfoot, King of the Iron Hills._ **

He had always believed his father to be dead, though as he read the words he felt some last, thin tether he hadn’t realised he’d been holding onto snap. He turned the envelop upside-down, tipping out its contents, and watched as a heavy iron key fell into the palm of his hands. It had been passed down for generations, and he had seen it many times, hanging around his own father’s neck.

He closed his eyes briefly, hand closing tightly around the key, and knew immediately what he must do. He had always planned to do such a thing, and it seemed that his father’s death had been the final nail in the coffin. He smiled wryly at the ironic thought, though he felt almost no amusement.

He was decided. He had to return to Erebor, even if it killed him.

 

 

 


	4. An Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one is a little short, but I'm working on the next one now, so it should be up sometime tomorrow (hopefully).

“I’m coming with you.”

Thorin cringed at the words. He took stock of the small Hobbit in front of him, hands stubbornly set on his hips, shoulders back, head held high. “I don’t think so,” he murmured in reply. He didn’t like the idea of Bilbo coming along with them. Not because he thought Bilbo wasn’t capable- in fact, he thought quite the contrary. But The Shire was a warm, safe place and he wouldn’t forgive himself if he dragged him out and into the rest of Middle Earth.

“You can try but I’ll just come along anyway. Wouldn’t you prefer I go along with you and be safe rather than follow behind?”

If Thorin wasn’t such a composed person, he might have made a face. But he knew he was right- the Halfling would just follow whether he liked it or not. At least he would be able to keep an eye on him if he were close by. He sighed in resignation. He wouldn’t have been able to say no anyway, though he wouldn’t admit that.

“You will do what I say without reservation.” He instructed, pointing sternly at him. “It could mean the difference between life and death.”

Bilbo nodded eagerly. “I will,” he insisted, though Thorin knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. He left the room rather quickly, and outside his doorway he could hear hushed, eager voices, followed by escalated cries of celebration. Bilbo telling Fili and Kili the news, no doubt. He ran a hand over his face, feeling weary already. A group of thirteen he supposed was an ominous number, and Bilbo made fourteen, so the more superstitious members of the company would be placated. But fourteen? Against a _dragon_? His kin in the Iron Hills had been less than willing (understandably so), though that had not stopped the irking he felt.

But, Mahal, he had enough to deal with in Fili and Kili, and now he had Bilbo to worry about o top of that. No doubt this journey would be a long and stressful one.

 

* * *

 

“What do I even pack?” Bilbo was knee deep in clothes that Fili and Kili had ripped from his drawers and strewn along the ground.

“You don’t have any suitable clothes.” Fili was scoffing, frowning down at him. “No boots, no heavy jackets, no furs-”

“Well, I am a _Hobbit_ ,” Bilbo reminded him. “I don’t exactly have a cupboard stocked with furs and woollen trousers.”

“Well, you should.” Fili scolded, looking far older than he should.

“We can’t even loan you some,” Kili gestured down at him. “You’re far too small for that.”

“Once again,” Bilbo repeated. “I’m a Hobbit.”

“No,” Kili shook his head, adamant. “I think you’re a Dwarf in a Hobbit’s body.”

“Yes,” agreed Fili, “you weren’t supposed to be a Hobbit.”

“I think some certain Hobbits might agree with you,” Bilbo murmured, looking down at his feet and heaving a sigh. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to take.”

“Just make sure the essentials are packed.” Fili informed him. “Like doilies.”

 “Yes, and the silverware. ”

Bilbo gave them both a disparaging look. “Oh, not you too.”

“Not to mention your handkerchief! Can’t leave the house without a handkerchief.”

“Handkerchiefs are useful things, thank you!” Bilbo snapped. “Now out,” he waved at them, ushering them out of the room. “Out!”

They ran out of the room, laughing and dodging the cushions Bilbo threw at them. He had to potter along with the packing, they’d be leaving soon, and meeting the others in Bree. But what did one take on an adventure?

And regardless of what Fili and Kili said, he certainly _was_ going to take his handkerchief.

After all, a Baggins never leaves the house without a handkerchief.

 

 

 


	5. The Company

Bilbo had been out of Hobbiton many times, he’d even reached the Weather Hills, just outside of Bree (though mainly at the urging of Fili and Kili). But the thought of going all the way to Rhovanion was a notion that made his stomach flip in both excitement and anxiousness.

They trekked heavily, Thorin refusing to stop for rest until they’d reached the Old Forest. By the time they sat down to rest for a few moments, Bilbo wasn’t the only one complaining.

“My feet are killing me.” Kili whined, stretching his legs out. “How long until we get to Bree?” Fili looked just as uncomfortable; although he was too busy stuffing his face with bread to speak.

“We’ll be there before nightfall.” Thorin replied. He’d stayed standing, leaning against a tree, waiting on the others. He had a ridiculous capacity to make others feel less than capable. “We’ll be meeting the others at the Prancing Pony. Now hurry and eat, we’ve got to get moving again soon.”

Kili made a fuss, but grabbed some bread anyway, downing it in colossal chunks.

Bilbo couldn’t blame him for complaining. After all, he was still so young by Dwarven standards. He seemed pretty young to Bilbo, though, and he often had to remind himself that Kili was nearly twenty years older than he was.

“So these friends of yours...” Bilbo said, picking at his own bread. “Are they very experienced in these sorts of things?”

Thorin seemed to hesitate. “Not exactly...” he replied after a moment. “But they’re loyal and willing, and that’s all I can ask.”

That was all well and good, thought Bilbo, but a little sword fighting experience wasn’t much to ask, either. Then again, he was pretty much useless and Thorin had allowed _him_ to come along. Well, maybe not _allowed_. Bilbo had to fight tooth and nail to come along. He refused to be left alone in that house, swallowed in the large rooms and engulfed by deafening silence. He had trouble sleeping their most nights. It was too quiet; it made him feel too... alone. Besides, the chance at an adventure was something he was going to grab hold of regardless.

Bree was bustling and loud, just as he remembered it. Stalls lined the pathways; people shouted out to each other and haggled. They made their way to The Prancing Pony, pushing through the throng of men. They were all so very tall, and Bilbo had to crane his neck to meet their eyes. Thorin, however, refused to lift his head... something to do with stubborn royalty, perhaps. Sounded about right.

In the corner of the inn, among drinking patrons, was a large, raucous group, far shorter than everyone else.

These were very clearly the other members of their party.

“Thorin Oakenshield.” A grey-haired Dwarf got to his feet and held out his hand in greeting, giving him a warm, friendly smile. “Far too much time has passed since our last meeting,” he continued as Thorin accepted his hand.

Thorin’s replying smile was small, but genuine. “Indeed.”

Kili was direction his own wide smile at one of the scarier members of the Company. “Mister Dwalin.”

He inclined his head politely. “Fili. Kili.” Dwain jerked his chin in Bilbo’s direction. “Who’s the little one?”

“This is Bilbo,” Fili chimed in quickly, slamming a hand down heavily on his back. He winced. “Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bilbo, let me introduce Dwalin, Balin, Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Oin, Gloin, Nori, Dori and Ori.” As soon as the names had left Thorin’s mouth, Bilbo had forgotten them.

“Well, sit down!” A friendly chap with a curling moustache and a warm looking hat gestured for them to take a seat. “Have a drink!”

The ginger haired, portly Dwarrow beside him turned a scolding gaze on him. “I think _you’ve_ had enough,” he commented dryly.

“Nonsense,” called another across the table. Bilbo frowned at the strange tri-pointed hairstyle on top of his head, wondering how such a thing was accomplished every morning. “There’s no such thing as ‘enough ale’.” A few of the others raised their mugs in agreement.

Someone pressed a mug into Bilbo’s hands and he tried to keep up with the drinking, but once the ale started to drip down his chin he knew he should stop. Apparently, however, the other Dwarrows were just getting started.

By the time Bilbo was ready for bed they had all gotten rather loud and rowdy and when he slipped away to go upstairs to bed, he just knew they were going to get up to something. He was also certain that this journey was certainly going to be interesting.

 

* * *

 

“Bilbo, Bilbo!” He was violently pushed, jolting awake. He opened his eyes, and flinched back at the painful bright light shoved in his face.

“What?” He looked up at Fili through narrowed eyes, trying to shield them from the lamp.

“Get your things together we have to leave _now_.”

“What do you mean?” He looked out the window to find it wasn’t even light yet. “What’s going on?”

“Nori’s got into a bit of trouble... we decided it was best we leave. Before...”

“Before?” Bilbo repeated, looking at him suspiciously.

“Before the woman’s husband gets wind of where he is and tries to wring his neck.”

He wasn’t even sure how to reply to that. “What?”

“Just get up.” Fili pushed at him again, and Bilbo heaved a sigh, pulling back his covers and stepping out into the cold air to gather his things. “I have never, ever had to leave in the dead of night because one of my friends was messing around with a Man’s wife.” He hissed to Kili as they left the town boundaries just as the sun was beginning to rise.

“Well, welcome to the world of Dwarrows. Better get used to it. You’ve got a whole adventure to share with a whole group of us.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure he liked that thought very much. And though a few of the members of the company would be loath to admit it, they sped up more than  a little when they heard the cries of Men back from where they’d came, and Nori was going to be put on some serious probation.

 

 

 


	6. The Fires and The Feast

The walking was what Bilbo wasn’t used to. All this _walking_. He spent much of his time sitting down and reading, or smoking his pipe, or eating. He wasn’t used to this. Not that he’d complain. After all, he’d wanted in on this adventure. But his feet felt raw and his legs were aching and his pack felt far too heavy. It didn’t take him long to realise there were quicker routes to and then over the mountains, but Thorin obviously seemed to be ignoring those pathways.

“Surely it would be easier if we went through Rivendell?” Bilbo found himself asking Thorin one night as they camped at the edge of the Trollshaws wood. “They would give us safe passage-”

“I want nothing to do with those Elves.” And with that Thorin was up on his feet and stalking away from the fire, looking highly irritated. Bilbo sighed.

“Well,” Kili said as Thorin went off, “that sounded final.”

“I know he doesn’t like the Elves,” Bilbo said now. “But surely he wants to take the quicker and easier route there.”

“Oh, no, laddie,” Balin gave him a friendly smile, “the Elves would not look kindly on our Quest. They would try to stop us.”

“You think?”

“Aye.” Dwalin agreed. “No doubt the leaf-eaters would take our map, and demand we turn back the way we came.”

“They are no friends of ours,” announced Gloin. Bilbo felt a little crestfallen at the words. He had so wished to see the Elves.

Fili gave him a grin. “Maybe you’ll see some Elves when we go through Mirkwood,” he whispered, leaning over so the others couldn’t hear them. “It’ll be hard to avoid them when he go through there.”

Bilbo smiled at him, feeling cheered by that knowledge.

The mountains seemed to stretch on forever, the air was thick and hard to breathe in, the nights were long, and the days tiresome- the ground beneath them was harsh and unforgiving. One slip and you’d go all the way down, and it was a long, long ways down.

 Bilbo’s stomach turned every time he looked down.

But they reached the other side within a few days, and his teeth didn’t chatter embarrassingly so much from the cold, and when they stepped down at the base of the mountain he could see green trees in the distance.

After that it didn’t take them long to reach the edge of Mirkwood. Bilbo stared up at the tall, twisting trees, all dark and dead-looking, knotted together in an imperceptible tangle of branches.

Deep down through the path that led through the wood, Bilbo could see almost nothing.

“We stay on the path.” Was all Thorin said before moving on.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long they were walking for before they were engulfed in darkness. And he wasn’t sure how long they walked after that. It never got light, so his judgement of time became skewed. They walked along the narrow path for what seemed like an eternity, holding onto the back’s of each other’s packs to ensure they didn’t lose one another.

And the darkness played tricks. More than once he was sure he could see figures either side of him, red eyes. Or that he could hear the rustle of movements nearby.

Days melded together and stretched on for an eternity. They ran out of food quickly and the ever stretching road appeared to be more of a burden than anything else.

“Oh, the things I’d do for a nice bit of deer,” whined Bombur as they walked, “or boar, or bird, or _anything_.”

“Maybe we could just cook you,” Bilbo heard someone up the front snap in reply. Dori. “you’d feed us for a very long while and we wouldn’t have to listen to you yammer on about food.”

“I’m hungry.”

“We all are.” Bofur replied. “Talking about it ain’t gonna help.”

“Oh, do you smell that?” Kili called now. “Smells delicious, like-”

“Pig.” Fili finished in delight. “Oh, and potatoes, and bread and-”

“Ale!” Nori cried.

Bilbo, who was also gleefully basking in the amazing scent of food, squinted in the distance. “Do you see a light?”

“A fire!”

“But it’s off the path.” Ori said now, sounding worried. “Everyone knows you’re not to go off the path through Mirkwood.”

“Those people probably weren’t so hungry they considering eating each other, though, were they?” Asked Gloin. As they got closer, the view through the trees became clearer.

“A feast!” Whispered Kili, and Bilbo could see his eyes sparkling in the firelight.  “We have to get some!”

“But it’s off the track.” Ori replied urgently.

“It’s just a few feet away,” Dwalin murmured now, “we’ll be right.”

“I don’t know...” But Bilbo was just as starving as the rest of him, and his opinion was swaying. “Maybe a few of us can wait here for the others to get some?” The prospect of food was a tantalising one.

“We can’t go off the track.” Thorin informed them sternly. “None of us can.”

Bilbo felt his shoulders sag. “He’s right.” He agreed now. “If we go off the track we might lose it. Then we’ll be trapped in here.”

“Surely we’re nearly through by now.” Added Balin. “Just a little while longer and we’ll be out.”

“I’m not waiting.” Declared Kili, pushing past them. “I need to eat or I’ll drop down dead.”

“Kili,” hissed his brother. “Come back!” But Kili didn’t listen. “I have to go after him.”

“No, you’ll-” But Fili was already off, Ori’s warnings falling on deaf ears.

“Oh, for Mahal’s sake.” Thorin went after them. “Stay on the path!” He ordered the others before disappearing through the trees.

They obeyed for all of three seconds. “I’m not letting those little bastards eat all the food.” Bombur announced, rushing after them. Nori ran after him, closely followed by a cursing Dori.

“Oh, Dori!” Ori stamped his foot. “We can’t go in.” He insisted, moving closer to Bilbo.

“Stay with Bilbo, Bifur.” Bofur put his older brother’s hand on Bilbo’s packed. “I’ll get Bombur back.”

“Oh, not you too.” Bilbo huffed.

“We have to stay together.” Balin said now, and Bilbo could hear him moving closer.

Soon enough the firelight disappeared.

“Oh, dear.” Ori said now. “We’ll never find them now.”

“We’re missing half the company.” Dwalin growled.

“We have to stay calm.” Gloin said. “We- wait! I see the fire again!” It was further down the pathway this time, and they followed it, much as the others would be.

“Oh, that food.” He could all but hear Gloin salivating. “I have to. I’m starving.”

Dwalin went to grab him, but in the darkness missed, and they watched as Gloin slipped off, too.

“It must be some kind of magic.” Balin muttered, more to himself than the others. “We cannot fall prey to it.”

Ori’s stomach growled loudly. “Oh,” he murmured in pain.

“It’ll be fine, lad.” Balin assured him . “We’ll find the others and get out of here soon.”

“I hope so. I think my stomach is eating itself.”

“Yours isn’t the only one.” Dwalin replied gruffly. “I’m wasting away here.”The light disappeared once more.

“Keep an eye out.” Bilbo told them. “I’m sure it’ll come up again soon.”

And it did. Once again, further down the path. And they followed and followed until through the trees it came into view again. The smell had become increasingly potent, and it was become more and more of a struggle to ignore it.

Bilbo felt Bifur’s hand slipped from the pack and soon they’d lost another member of their company.

“It’s quiet. Too quiet. We can’t just stand here.” Dwalin spat now. “They could be in trouble and were just standing here. The light is just a few steps from the path. We’ll be fine.”  

Then they heard it, loud thumps, like bodies hitting the ground.

“Something’s wrong.” Suddenly, somehow, the rest of them were all off the path and running towards the noise, stumbling over rocks and tree roots, leaving Bilbo on his own. And then the light went out.

 

 

 


	7. In The Halls of Thranduil

Bilbo staggered along the pathway until two Elven guards found him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d lost the others, but at least he was out of harm’s way here in Thranduil’s halls. At least... he thought he was.

“So, this is what a Hobbit looks like.” Thranduil gazed at him as he was set before him. He was splayed lazily across his throne, looking rather bored. “What is your name, creature?”

“Bilbo Baggins.”

“And what is a Hobbit doing so far away from home? You look weary and ragged,” it sounded like more of an insult than a statement.

“I was travelling with others.”

“Others?” Thranduil repeated, straightening in his throne a little.

“Yes. A small group of Dwarves. We were passing through... they wandered off the track.”

His eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly. “And you stayed on?”

“I was told it was unwise to walk far from the path.” Bilbo explained, though Thranduil already knew such things.

“A smart little creature you are. And rather pretty... for a Hobbit.” Another slight barb. “But you have no need to worry,” the Elven King continued. “Your... companions are safe.”

Bilbo perked up a little. “They are?”

“Yes, quite. They are being held in my cells.”

A frown twisted his face into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were smart enough to not stray too close to my fires and feasts, Master Hobbit, but your friends, however, were not. They have committed a crime.”

“A crime?” Bilbo asked. “They were starving. They did not know-”

“One of the men in your Company is a Dwarf King, is he not? At least, he is supposed to be. Last I heard he was King of nothing more than some rocks to the West.”

“He is a Dwarf king, yes.” Bilbo answered proudly, lifting his chin up in the air.

“Then he ought to know the laws of our people.” Thranduil replied simply, waving it off.

“So you will keep them there? In _cells_?”

“He refuses to explain to me why he is in my Wood in the first place, so yes, until I have satisfactory answers, he and the others will be held in imprisonment.” Thorin had said nothing to the Elf King? Was it anger, or was there another reason he did not share their Quest? Bilbo wasn’t sure.

“I’d like to see him,” Bilbo requested now, “if you would permit.”

Thranduil just raised one of those perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“Perhaps I could get him to talk to you.” Bilbo continued, letting the suggestion hang in the air.

“Thorin Oakenshield is a stubborn man.” Thranduil looked quite amused. At least, Bilbo thought he did. He’d heard that Elves were hard to gauge, but he hadn’t imagined that they were this indiscernible. All stoic and unreadable. Bilbo found it more than a little disconcerting and he understood now why Thorin and the others did not trust them. “I find he does not listen to anyone. Why do you imagine he would listen to you, a Halfling?”

“I am no Halfling; I am a Hobbit- _a Baggins of Bag End_. And I am his friend.”

Thranduil’s lips twitched in amusement, and Bilbo knew that was a rare feat to have accomplished. “ _Friend_?” He repeated, eyes looking over Bilbo curiously now, as if he were reassessing him. “Well, then, you may try if you wish.” He waved a hand, gesturing over one of the guards. “Show our guest down to the cells; let him speak with the others. Afterwards, I would ask you accompany me in my feast and tell me about your home and how you came here.”

Bilbo nodded politely, allowing himself to be led off by the Elf.

 

* * *

 

“Bilbo!” KIli pressed himself up against the bars, as if he could push his way through to save him.

“Have they hurt you?” Fili demanded.

“Of course they haven’t. I haven’t broken any laws. Thranduil has been quite kind to be, given the circumstances.”

“ _‘Given the circumstances’_?” Fili repeated, making a face.

“We are guests in his land, Fili. Now, where are the others?”

Fili pointed down the hall, where Bilbo could only just see other bars in sight. “But they have Uncle Thorin somewhere else. They won’t let us see him.”

Bilbo gave a small nod. “I’ll talk to him for you.”

“Bilbo?” Kili called after him as he began to move again.

“Yes?”

“Don’t trust Thranduil.”

Bilbo wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that.

Fili had been right, however. Thorin was kept far away from the others, further down and without sunlight, though Dwarves seemed to revel in their darkness. He caught sight of Bilbo and did a triple take before rushing to the bars, as if he couldn’t be sure whether Bilbo was really there or not

“Bilbo?” He asked, looking guarded.

“Hello, Thorin.”

His face cleared of all doubt then. “Mahal, it is you. I thought I was seeing things- going mad. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

“What is it with you Dwarrows?” Bilbo put his hands on his hips. “You are being ridiculous. I’ve been trying to get King Thranduil to release you. So far he hasn’t budged.”

Thorin reached through the bars, grabbing hold of Bilbo’s forearm and pulling him closer. “Leave us.” He snarled at the Guard, who paid no attention to his sneering.

“Please give us a moment.” Bilbo asked politely. The Elf inclined his head slightly before disappearing down the corridor a bit. “You must try to act like a King, Thorin. Or, if not a King, the Prince you were trained to be.”

“They are _Elves-_ ”

“And they are responsible for your fate. For your Companies fate. Do not forget that.”

“How did you get here?” Thorin demanded, blatantly ignoring Bilbo’s warning.

“They found me wandering on the path,” he explained. “I didn’t leave it, as the rest of you did. I had no idea what had become of you, King Thranduil told me that he had taken you into custody and that you had refused to tell him anything.”

“Did _you_ tell him anything?”

“Of course not.” Bilbo sighed now. “I am not as stupid as you think I am.”

“I do not think you stupid. Naive, perhaps, but not stupid.”

“I don’t think I feel any less insulted, you know.” He informed him. “Besides, right now it seems I am responsible for getting you out of here. I’ve been invited to dine with the King tonight. I’ll talk to him again. But, please, just talk to him yourself next time he sees you. We need to get out of here. Any time wasted is a los for us. And the Elves, they can help- _regardless_ of your dislike for them, they are useful. You have to admit that much.”

Thorin grumbled something, but Bilbo didn’t catch it, so instead he just sighed again. “I have to go now. But I’ll try and come and see you again soon.”

“Wait.” Thorn’s grip tightened when Bilbo tried to pull away. “We have to think of a contingency plan- if we can’t negotiate our way out of this.”

“And your suggestion of a contingency plan being, what, exactly?”

“Escape routes." Thorin told him. "Ways we can sneak past guards. Ways we can get out of these cells.”

“Have you got any ideas, then?”

Thorin looked lament to admit it. “No. Right now it seems quite inescapable. But I will keep on trying.”

“As will I.” Bilbo slipped his arm from Thorin’s grip. “I will get us out of here, Thorin, one way or another. Trust me.”

“I do.” Thorin assured him. “With my life.”

“Well, that’s news to me.” Bilbo replied with a grin. “Try not to get too angry with the Elves, Thorin. They have their own people to worry about without having to deal with the rest of us. Just like you.” And then he turned and went the way the other Elf had, wondering if he could be able to navigate his way back here sometime tonight without the aid of a guard.

 

 


	8. Laketown

Thranduil’s feasts could have fed the whole of The Shire for a week. Not to mention there was enough wine to lighten up a whole army... or maybe just his cousin Lobelia.

“You want me to help the Dwarf King, is that it?” Thranduil queried now, finishing off his umpteenth goblet.

 “If you were to help,” Bilbo informed him, “they could reclaim their home.”

“And then I would have Caravans of those Dwarves coming through Mirkwood nonstop. I don’t get anything out of it, little one.”

“Well, surely there must be something the Dwarves have that you want.”

Thranduil paused for some time. “The Arkenstone. I would release you all and give you safe passage through my land. And were you to rid yourself of that turbulent beast Smaug, I would offer you all the help you need to help rebuild Erebor to its former glory.”

“For the stone?”

Thranduil nodded.

Bilbo shook his head. “I cannot promise you that. It is not mine to give.”

“What a pity.” Thranduil looked at the bottom of his goblet. “What a great pity, indeed.”

“Perhaps you could perform such an act for the benefit of both Kingdoms. The trade routes come right through here, so you would prosper just as equally as they could, and I believe you might perhaps enjoy the idea of the Dwarves owing you a favour in return for you help.”

Thranduil looked over the rim of his cup to Bilbo. “You have a smart tongue, Master Hobbit; you might want to watch that.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched upwards slightly. “I’ve been given that advice before, My King.”

Thranduil set his cup down, looking wistful. “You are correct.” He said eventually. “I would enjoy having those cretins in my debt. And if Smaug was dealt with there would be one less peril in the land for my men and women to face.” Because under all the stony expressions and games, Thranduil was a King, and his first and foremost job was to keep his people safe and happy. “You have a deal, Bilbo Baggins. Your Company will be released and seen through the rest of the wood by my men.”

 Bilbo inclined his head politely. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“We do not need babysitters to show us where to go.” Snapped Dwalin as the Elves led the way along the path. The whole Company was irate at the idea of being in the debt of an Elf, but they had been released, and no one seemed too keen on fighting Bilbo on the matter.

“Do you not?” Bilbo heard one of the Elves snipe in reply. “You seemed to lose your way rather quickly last time you were left to your own devices.” Bilbo could almost hear Dwalin colour in embarrassment.

With the help of the Elves they reached the edge of Mirkwood within a day, for which Bilbo was truly grateful. He was glad to see the back of this place, with its twisting trees and eyes that glowed in the distance.

Bilbo thanked them for their help, receiving slight smiled in reply, turning their gaze on the others, however, their faces turned to snobbish stone and they turned on their heels, leaving them there at the edge of Mirkwood.

“Damn Elves.”  Thorin muttered.

“I rather like them.” Bilbo said with a smile, still watching them disappear into the blackness. When he turned he found Thorin aiming his usual disparaging glance in his direction. “It’s not my fault they don’t like you.” He said simply, passing by the Dwarf and setting his feet onto fresh grass and taking in the warmth of sunshine he had not felt in days. He could hear Nori laughing behind him at Bilbo’s deliberate snub of Thorin, but it was cut quite short. Bilbo could only imagine it was that his King had thrown a glare _his_ way as well.

“You ought to thank me, you know.” He continued. “I think I just declared peace between your people as well as saving your royal behind.” Fili and Kili burst into laughter at this, unable to restrain it anymore. Bilbo turned around and flashed them a smile. “Are you going to hurry up or have we decided to delay reaching Erebor in time?”

Thorin grumbled, but nonetheless got the Company to speed up.

They saw the smoke of Lake Town before they reached it.

The outskirts were a crumbling ruin, burnt and destroyed almost beyond recognition. In the street people sat, their livelihoods having been burnt to a crisp and turned into ash and dust.

A human boy, perhaps in his teenage years, caught sight of them and nosed his way over in curiosity.

“You don’t often see Dwarrows in this area.” The boy said now, still following them. “Not anymore. You going up to the hill?”

“It is a mountain, not a hill, child.” Balin scolded, frowning at him.

The boy just shrugged. “Need a guide do ya?”

Thorin heaved a sigh. “Show us to the boat docks and I will give you some gold.” Clearly he was in no mood to spend time bantering with the boy.

“Oh, yes!” He jumped into action, walking off and waving for them to follow. “This way, this way.”

“What happened here?” Thorin demanded to know as they walked.

“Dragons. Dragons and the dreadful business they bring.”

“ _Dragon_?” Kili repeated eagerly. “You mean Smaug the dragon?”

“Aye, something stirred him up there.” He nodded to Erebor, which lay in the distance. “He came down, flames and smoke and death. The Bowman shot him, but only managed to injure him. Here’s to hoping he flew off home and died of his festering wounds.” The boy laughed now. “Docks are just there, sir.” H pointed to the water down the path a bit where boats were gathered before holding his hand out. Thorin, true to his word, dropped three gold coins in there. The boy’s eyes glittered.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” He jumped off, cackling madly.

“What an odd child.” Muttered Gloin.

“Let’s just find a boat to bring us up river so we can get out of here.” Nori pushed his way to the front of the group, leading the way for the first time ever. Bilbo supposed the thought of all that gold being so close must have riled him into action.

Bilbo wondered how much gold they were promised in the first place.

 

 

 


	9. O' Smaug the Mighty

The stretching columns or Erebor were broken and scorched and crumbling, much like the rest of the mountain. The blackness stretched on past the stone, dead trees and burnt ground hung silently, like ghosts waiting for the night.

Bilbo found it all extremely depressing, and _he’d_ never seen the place at its peak. He glanced over at Thorin, who was looking up at his home with an unfathomable, shuttered expression in his eye. Bilbo could tell he was mad, upset, pained, all those things. But he never liked to how emotion. So instead he would just stand there, stoic as ever.

Much of the front of the mountain had caved in, though there was just enough of a gap for a Hobbit to fit in.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Fili told him as he slipped off his pack. “You’ve done more than enough for us, and no one is comfortable letting you in there by yourself when a dragon’s roaming about Mahal knows where.”

“I’ll be fine.” Bilbo told him with a smile. “None of you lot are going to fit in there with the way your stomachs are growing.”

Fili gave him a half smile and a choking ort of laugh before crushing him into a hug. “Be careful.” He told him seriously as he pulled back. “Dragons hate everyone- _even Hobbits_.”

“I will.” And with that he weaselled his way through the gap, shifting backwards into the darkness of Erebor.

He slipped over bits of fallen stone, frowning as he attempted to navigate his way through the destruction Smaug had left behind. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the sounds of jingling, coins tumbling over each other. He followed the noise, silent as a mouse, until he reached a set of long, winding stairs. They used to be narrow, he could tell, but instead they had been blown wide open, more than likely on Smaug’s first trip down them. He climbed down the stairs hesitatingly, listening to what sounded like whining as the glow of gold became clearer. He could now see his hands in front of his face, and his feet on the stone steps, and soon enough, he reached the bottom where the lip of the doorway stretched and invited one inside.

It was beautiful.

Turrets of gold and silver and all sorts of gems Bilbo had no names for lined the floor and stacked high upwards to the arching roof, which he couldn’t see in the dark. The room stretched on for Mahal knows how long and it was completely full. Completely. The air was thick and stale and much of the gold and gems were lined with dust from the lack of care they had received these last few decades. Bilbo picked one up- a bright, ruby red thing, shining prettily in the light like a rose or a carnation.

It was all lovely, certainly it was. But it didn’t seem worth fighting a _dragon_ over. Though he knew Thorin didn’t simply set out on this quest for the treasure- it was to reclaim is home for himself, his kin and his people. And a home seemed a worthy cause to fight even a dragon over.

And he saw him. Oh, he did. The dragon Smaug. Or, at least, his tail. He was buried beneath a mountain of gold stained red. He’d been gravely injured.

Bilbo crept a little closer, curiosity getting the better of him when he was only supposed to see if the creature was alive or not.

“Thief!” the creature hissed, coins beginning to tumble to the ground from its movement. “I smell you, though I cannot see you and I know you are there. Take what you wish and be on your way- you have no business here.”

“I am no thief, O Great Smaug.” Bilbo’s voice trembled slightly when he spoke. “I only wished to have a look and see whether you were as great as they claimed you to be.”

He ducked behind a pile of coins as Smaug rose his head, his great eye rolling to find where Bilbo was.

“You seem to know me quite well, though I am unfamiliar with your smell.” Bilbo peered around the side of the gold pile, watching as Smaug flickered one battered wing slightly in pain. “But I know the smell of those that touch you- I do not forget the scent of the kind I terrorised for this hoard. You are an enemy.”

“I am no enemy of yours. I am small and... I dislike violence terribly.  You are injured, mighty Smaug. Let me help you.”

“Help me?” The reply was thunderous. “You are here to kill me. To finish the job that had already been started by your Lake-Men.”

“They fear you, Mighty Smaug, and they attack you out of that fear. But I do not.”

“Then why do you hide?”

“An injured party may lash out unreasonably. I am merely taking precautions.”

The dragon laughed a booming, rattling sound that filled the cavernous room. “You are amusing creature. Much more amusing than any others I have heard. Which is why I haven’t roasted you alive yet.” Bilbo made no reply for some time, and the dragon had seemingly become impatient. “You are still there, are you not, little creature? I can hear you, scuttling like a mouse.”

“I am here,” Bilbo replied, slowly rising from his hiding place. “You know not what I am?”

Smaug’s eye fell on him at last. “Strange little thing. Not an Elf, not a Dwarf, not a Man.” Bilbo crept a little closer. “I have not seen your kind before, and I have been alive a very many years.”

“My kind are not the adventurous type. We stick to our gardening and sleeping rather than battling great and mighty dragons.”

“Then why are you here, little creature?”

Bilbo was so close now he could reach out and touch Smaug’s shiny scales. He did not, of course, make any move at all. “I was curious.”

“Curiosity?” Smaug queried now, his pupil widening as he looked at Bilbo. “Not for gold? For fame, or fortune? Simply for curiosity?”

“Aye.”

“I have not met many creatures who willingly face down a dragon for the prospect of knowledge and interest.”

“You are hurt, Smaug. Badly.” He gestured to the arrow sticking out his wing. “Let me help you.”

Smaug gazed at the arrow protruding from his back before turning his head back to Bilbo. “You may remove the arrow.” He allowed eventually. “I would not die with such an annoying thing still stuck in my wing.”

With shaking hands, Bilbo moved close to the dragon’s side, wrapping both hands around the arrow and _pulling_. The replying roar was loud enough to fill not only the treasury, but sweep up the stairs, through the halls, and soak through the heavy walls that had fallen at the entrance of the  mountain. But he had gotten the arrow out, and Smaug had fallen back down on the ground, blood seeping from the wound.

“I will get something for the bleeding.” Bilbo said, dropping the arrow and al but running across the room and up the stairs, all but forgetting the danger he could have been in, treating a dragons wounds.

After some searching he found what appeared to be a healing room, and he found a number of bandages and salves and healing potions he could use. After sweeping them all up in his arms he found his way back down the stairs and began tending to Smaug’s battered wing.

“Your friends would not treat you kindly if they knew of your actions.” Smaug’s once mighty voice was weak, and his eyes were drooping closed.

“You’d better keep warm.” He said in reply. “Although I’d appreciate you not burn me alive for that purpose.”

Smaug chuckled, smoke billowing from his nostrils before he coughed, setting fire to a smashed table a few feet in front of him. Then, his large eyes drooped closed completely and he fell asleep, leaving Bilbo to tend to his wounds in silence.

 

 

 


	10. Treasure

Bilbo wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d entered The Lonely Mountain, though he was certain it had been over a day he’d spent inside its dark walls. He woke up lying on a cold and hard pile of gold, sheltered by Smaug’s bad wing, not only keeping him warm but keeping him barred from movement as well. But Bilbo wasn’t scared. Tales of Smaug’s desolation were frightening, but this creature with him was old and hurt and in need of care. Although he was certain that if Smaug knew the Dwarrows outside were of royal blood, he would have no qualms committing the same regicide he had committed on Thorin’s mother back when he first attacked Erebor for its gold.

But if he could strike up a friendship with Smaug (if that was at all a possible thing to do with a dragon) and perhaps gain his trust, then he could convince both him and Thorin to parley, to speak and come to an agreement that involved no more bloodshed. Thorin would be angry at Bilbo helping Smaug, that much was true, but the risk that his anger wasn’t as great as his kinship with Bilbo as a risk he was going to have to take. He wanted no more death, no more blood. If this could be solved without a war or a battle, then Bilbo would try to commit to that path, even if it killed him in the process.

He shifted uncomfortably atop the pile of gold he had been settle on, and tried to wriggle his way out from underneath Smaug’s wing.

“Trying to escape now are you, little rabbit?”

Bilbo jumped despite himself, then turned to look at Smaug, who had opened one eye curiously.

“I am uncomfortable. I wished to stand and stretch my legs.”

Smaug lifted his wing slowly. “You are no prisoner.”

“I hope not. Because if I don’t go and find my friends soon, they might wish to come and visit us with swords and fire.”

“Fire cannot harm a dragon.” Smaug sighed, rolling his open eye.

“Yes, well, I’d prefer not to start another battle. Wouldn’t you?”

Smaug seemed to consider it. “I like blood.” He answered eventually, shifting on the pile of gold. “But I am old and tired and I have been injured so perhaps for now it would be best to avoid any fighting.”

“That is a smart choice, O’ Mighty Smaug.”

Smaug gave what Bilbo thought _might_ have been a grin. “You will keep, little creature. For now I will allow you to go, but I warn you that I hold my treasure in high esteem, just as the Dwarves do, and I may not be so forthcoming to allow you to leave next time.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say to those words, so instead he left; stumbling blindly in the dark once more to find his way back to the entrance he had come in through.

Cool air hit his face as he wriggled his way out of the gap between the stones, and he found a dark sky to join it. He could smell smoke where a fire had been lit and soon enough, found the firelight to go with it.

Many member of the company were asleep, leaning against fallen stones or each other, few were till awake, but each of them looked agitated and worried. Even the lines on the faces of the sleeping members of the company were deep and showed signs of concern.

Bofur was the first to see him, and he blinked sleepily, speaking as if he were reaming. “Bilbo?” The name aught the others attention and they turned to look at him as well, relief pouring over their features. “Bilbo!” Bofur jumped up, a grin spreading across his face. “Ah, I knew you’d be alright!” He ran towards him and wrapped his arms around him in a warm, bone-crushing hug; quite similar to the one Fili had given him earlier on.

“How long have I been down there for?”

“Hours,” Bofur replied as the others began to wake. “It’s nearly sun-up. We were worried about you.”

“Come, come,” Balin ushered him towards the group. “Warm your bones by the fire and tell us what you’ve found.”

 

* * *

 

“The place is a mess, but a lot of the rooms on the higher floors haven’t been touched. Much of it is still in order, when it’ reclaimed you’ll have to repair a few things, there’s a lot of stuff falling apart from disuse or burnt to a cinder, but it’s in a much better state that I’d originally thought it would be.”

“And Smaug?” Thorin demanded, and the Company became silent.

“He is still alive.” Bilbo replied, deciding it was best to speak of the matter of a parley perhaps when no one else was around. He didn’t want anyone to think he was readying to conspire against Thorin, which was a ridiculous notion. “Injured. We... had a conversation.”

“You _what_?” Demanded Thorin, voice flat like the crack of a whip.

“A _conversation_?” Kili asked, voice laced with dubiousness. “With _Smaug_?”

“He says he has no wish to fight just now," Bilbo informed them, "but I think we’re going to have a hard time getting him to leave.”

“What we _need to do_ is _kill him_.”

“It’s going to be a bit hard to kill a dragon, Thorin.” Bilbo replied disparagingly. “There are fourteen of us, not two hundred. It didn’t work so well for you the first time and you were well equipped with an army. Besides, do you really want a dead dragon in your treasury?”

Thorin seemed unimpressed.

“Look,” Bilbo continued, “he’ll talk to me. I think we can urge him out of there in a way that doesn’t use mass violence.”

“That creature murdered hundreds of Dwarrows." Thorin bit the words out. "That _creature_ is a monster who committed genocide against my people.”

“That _creature_ is a monster we can’t win when we fight." Bilbo argued in return. "The smartest, most logical step now is to try and reason with it. There is no need for more bloodshed, and I will not have you rushing in there and getting burnt to a crisp because you’re too preoccupied with revenge to think straight.”

Thorin looked like he was going to burst out into a fit of rage, but a solid hand on his shoulder from Dwalin seemed to stop him. “He’s right, y’know.” He informed his old friend. “We need to think about this before we run in with blazin’ swords.”

“I agree.” Balin seconded Bilbo’s idea. “If Bilbo thinks there’s a way out of this without getting us all killed, I think it’s a good idea to try it.”

“Can I see the dragon?” Kili asked, all perky and curious.

“No.” Thorin flat out stated before the word were even completely out of Kili’s mouth. “No one goes near it. I’ll talk to it.”

“Are you sure about that?”  Bilbo asked now. “Because I hate to say it but you don’t seem to be in the most diplomatic mood right now.”

Fili snickered, but quickly looked down at his feet when Thorin directed a steely gaze at him.

“Why don’t we talk over there?” Bilbo suggested, nodding downhill a bit. “If you’d like.”

Thorin got to his feet. “Yes.” He answered icily. “I would.”

Clearly they were going to have words about this. But Bilbo was not going to budge. He was simply not allowing Thorin to get them all killed.

 

 

 

 


	11. Parley

Thorin reluctantly agreed to trust Bilbo, but only just, and they worked on the passageway inside the mountain so Thorin could fit and follow Bilbo when he went back down.

All stoic composure was lost the moment the pathway cleared and the sweeping structures, now crumbled and fallen, were revealed.

“This way,” Bilbo took his hand and lead him through the ruins, showing him the only way to get to the stairs that led to the treasury.

“Much of it is still intact.” He head Thorin mutter, more to himself than to Bilbo. “The dragon mustn’t have gone very far into the mountain.”

“I think he hasn’t left the treasury unless necessary.” Bilbo replied.

“Oh yes,” Thorin replied dryly, “best not wander too far from his golden prize.” There was a fierce resentment in his voice, leaving Bilbo to wonder whether Thorin could parley properly, or whether the memories of Smaug attacking his home would make this more of a mission of vengeance that would get the both of them killed.

And Bilbo couldn’t help but notice the odd shine to his eyes when they fell on his long lost treasure at the bottom of the stairs.

“ _Durin_.” The dragon growled. “I can smell your line from a mile off.”

“I have brought him to talk with you, Smaug.” Bilbo cut in before Thorin had a chance to reply.

“I will talk with you, little creature, but no Dwarrow will bargain with me. They take what they want by metal and blood.”

“As did you, Dragon.”

“I was in need of this place, and your greed was corrupting the Mountain." Smaug answered patiently. "It cried out in pain when you stole its heart and used it as a bauble and I heard its cries and intervened.”

Thorin's face contorted in anger. “I am not my grandfather." He declared. "He was sick, tormented by the stone.”

“The stone was merely protecting itself.”

 Thorin had very obviously had enough reminiscing. “I did not come here to listen to tales in the dark. Speak now, Dragon, and tell me what you want.”

“Protection.” Smaug answered immediately.

“Protection?” Thorin repeated. “You are injured, not invalid.”

“Not for me,” the dragon hissed. “For my kin.”

“Kin?” Bilbo and Thorin spoke at the same time, Bilbo in curiosity and Thorin in anger.

Bilbo had heard no such comments from Smaug about _kin_.

“My eggs. They will hatch soon, but they are too young to protect themselves.”

“You want us to look after your babies.” Bilbo said.

Smaug lowered his head slightly in a gesture of acknowledgement. “I do.”

“Look after them?” Thorin spat resentfully. “I will slaughter them!” He stalked forward, hand on the hilt of is sword, but Bilbo stepped in front of him, putting hands to his chest to stop him.

“You promised.” Bilbo emphasized the words very carefully. “And he would burn you to a crisp before you had chance to strike him down.”

Thorin eased back slightly, releasing his sword, and Bilbo released a heaving breath.

“Thank you.” He turned back to face Smaug. “If we agree to these terms you will leave Erebor?”

“I am nearing the end of my life. I will go far over the Sundering Seas and back to my homeland so I may die where my ancestors did. My children will not go with me.”

“They will protect the treasure?” Thorin demanded to know.

“If it is asked of them, they will.” Smaug shifted slightly on his pile of gold while he spoke. “They will protect their master until their final breath if they are treated well.”

Bilbo spun to look up at Thorin, waiting for an answer. This was good. At least, from an unbiased point of view. Bilbo knew that Thorin would have no dragon near his gold ever again if he could make it happen. But King of no King under the Mountain, he did not have _that_ sort of power under his command. Even if the aforementioned dragons were protecting said gold for him.

But Bilbo couldn’t allow Thorin to destroy Smaug’s children. Because that was what they were- children. And you simply could not blame children for the actions of their forefathers. Especially when they hadn’t even hatched yet.

Thorin turned his eyes onto Bilbo now, and upon seeing his expression, became resigned. “I will have to confer with my advisors.” Bilbo instantly relaxed at the words. “But you will have an answer soon, Dragon.”

“Then I will let you leave.” His golden eyes remained fixed on Bilbo as he spoke, and the word _let_ reiterated through his head.

“We will return soon.” Thorin turned and made move to leave, but Smaug spoke out, making him stop.

“Be careful, young King under the Mountain. The gold is pale and enchanted and will bewitch you as it has all others of your line. You are not above its magic, and you are no better than it- regardless of what you believe.”

Thorin barely glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Bilbo.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agk, short chapter, I know. I wasn't sure what else to add to it.


	12. A Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, so sorry about the late update! I've got no excuses for you guys, I'm just super lazy.

“Where will you go?” Bilbo asked Smaug, watching as the creature stretched its wing out, testing to see if it had healed enough to fly.

“There is a land. The land of my ancestors.”

“Over the Sundering Seas.” Bilbo added, remembering the dragon’s words. “What is it like?”

“It is indescribable.” Smaug replied simply.

Bilbo supposed that was all he was going to get out of the creature. “I will be sad to see you go.” Bilbo informed the dragon now. And he would be. Their short time together had led to a strong bond being forged. An odd one, but a strong one nonetheless.

“I believe we will meet again, little creature. There is no need to lament. And I will be close by if you need me- I will stay in the forests until my kin have hatched.”

“Will you make it to your home alright?” He wondered. The Sundering Seas were a long way to the west and there were many dangers, even to a dragon.

“I will be fine. You ought to move, little one,” he warned. “I have been known to crush things while flying.”

Bilbo pushed himself back against the wall, watching as the proper wingspan of the dragon unravelled and Smaug shot off upwards, gaining speed before nose diving down and tunnelling up through the stairs, cracking and tumbling stone.

Left behind, lying against the smouldering fire were two large scaled eggs, red and blue in colour, though the colour was fading, draining away. Bilbo had no idea whether that was a good thing or not.

Much of the rubble that had been covering the entranceway had been moved by the others and there was now a rather significant space to move inside and outside.

“The creature is gone.” Bilbo said as he stopped at the camp.

“We heard it.” Gloin informed him. “Some loud cracking sound. And Kili insists he saw it flying away.”

“I did!” Kili cut in now. “All golden scales and massive wings!”

“And it left its eggs, you say?” Bofur asked, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his tangled hair.

Bilbo just nodded.

Fili seemed confused. “What do we even do with dragon’s eggs?” He asked, voice unsure and eyebrows furrowed deeply.

“They’ll make one hell of an omelette.” Bombur muttered distastefully, poking at the beginnings of a fire.

 Bilbo was well aware that the agreement to look after the baby dragons was an unpopular one, but that had been the agreement.

He made a promise to Smaug and he’d keep it even if it killed him.

 

* * *

 

Thorin didn’t leave the treasury that night. Instead he stayed down there, simply staring at the gold. It had worried Bilbo, though he told himself such thoughts were silly. Thorin was well aware of the sickness that had taken his grandfather Thror, and he would not fall prey to such things.

But Bilbo saw the concerned looked Fili and Kili gave each other when Dwalin said Thorin would not return just yet, and Balin had looked towards the mountain wistfully.

He’d felt that clenching in his stomach, that deep seeded natural instinct that led to fear, which was what, in turn, led him to check on Thorin early that next morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise. There was a little light streaming through the entrance, but other than that it was mostly dark, and Bilbo found himself stumbling, carefully trying to avoid anything that would make a noise and alert the others. Though he had no idea way he was being so paranoid all of a sudden, he just knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to alert them to where he was going.

He could hear some sort of rattling when he reached the stairs which led to the treasury, like something heavy being dragged over the coins that lined the floor and it made him hurry his steps.

The mounds of gold came into sight, and soon enough, Bilbo could see Thorins' figure, nearing the dragon eggs, dragging something heavy along with him. In the light it was hard to tell what it was exactly, but it was teel, and the long handle curved out into something sinister and sharp looking. His breath hitched when he realised what it was- as Thorin came to a stop in front of the eggs and raised it high above his head.

Bilbo reacted before he could think about, darting forward across the room and jumping between them, placing himself directly in the pathway of the axe Thorin was swinging. Thankfully, Thorin was quick to adapt to such things, and swung the axe sideways, so it grazed just by Bilbo’s shoulder before slamming down heavily on the ground, clanking against gold and jewels and shiny rocks. The hilt of the axe was abandoned in favour for grabbing hold of Bilbo’s shoulders and shaking him like he was a fool. Which he probably was.

 “What are you doing?!” Thorin demanded.

“ _You can’t destroy them_!” Was all Bilbo managed to get out. It was supposed to sound strong and decided, but it was more of a squeak than anything else. To be honest, he was still freaking out a little from the whole ‘nearly being cut in half by an axe’ thing.

Thorin’s face twisted into something _fierce_.“I will do whatever I want with them.”

“Do you really want to gain the wrath of a _dragon_?” Bilbo demanded to know. “One who is still nearby? You know, the one with the fire and claws and scales and the ability to level an entire kingdom in less than a day?!”

Thorin blanched at the mention of Smaug’s initial invasion. “If you’re not with me,” he said slowly, lowly and in such a way that it elicited a dark, cold shiver down Bilbo’s spine. “Then you’re against me.”

The words struck heavy, and Bilbo found himself being weighed down by their meaning, unwilling to believe what was happening here. How could someone fall so easily, without noticing it? “Do you hear yourself?” He cried now. “You sound _insane_.”

“I am not insane,” snarled Thorin, obviously angered by the mention of sickness. Smaug had been right. Thorin had thought himself above all that, unable to be susceptible to such a thing. To the same thing his grandfather fell to. “You’re the one who wants to save the monsters.”

“Children should not be punished for their parent’s wrongdoings." Bilbo attempted, trying to reason with him now. "You of all people should know that.”

The comment seemed to push Thorin further over the edge. “Don’t you dare speak of such things to me!” He snapped. “You know nothing of them. As King under the Mountain my orders are to be obliged. You touch those eggs Bilbo and I will make sure you are punished for treachery.”

Bilbo was so taken aback he couldn’t speak for a moment. “You’re threatening me?” Were the words he worked out eventually.

Thorin’s face didn’t change from the contorted mask of anger and superiority. “I am.” He replied simply.

Bilbo took a step back. Thorin’s face wasn’t even his own anymore, he could see that now. He’d fallen to the sickness, Bilbo was sure. “Fine.” He said, still moving, leaving for the stairs. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid. Like hit Thorin over the head with something rather heavy and run away with the eggs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. When this all comes crumbling down around your feet, you’ll remember this.”

“I won’t.”

Bilbo left him there then, to bask in the pale gold light and stare at his prize. He had to get those eggs out of there, even if it meant acting against the wishes of a friend, of a _king_. It was a dangerous path he was treading on, but he had no choice. A Baggins always keeps a promise, and he had not only promised Smaug to care for his children, but he had also promised he would keep Thorin safe, and this was the only way he knew how.

 

 


	13. Treachery

Hobbits were known for their ability to pass by being unseen. Well, they were known for it by the people who knew what Hobbits _were_ \- the ones they snuck by generally weren’t even aware of their existence.

So it didn’t take Bilbo much effort to creep across the camp while the others were sleeping and slip through the entrance into the mountain, right past Fili, who was on guard but seemed to be more preoccupied with sharpening his sword.

Bilbo crept further into the mountain, the sound of whetstone carving over metal flicking through the air behind him. Dwalin was stationed in the treasury, carefully watching over the eggs, though Bilbo could see him slipping off every now and again, head nodding down slowly before jerking back up again.

He sneaked through the piles of gold, zigzagging to avoid making noise. He crouched behind a pile of gold, just a hairsbreadth away from the eggs, watching Dwalin as he slowly slipped into a temporary sleep once more. He took the opportunity while he could, darting forward and scooping up the eggs, making a dash towards the stairs. He fumbled but was up the stairs and out of the mountain before Dwalin even noticed. The alerting cry startled Fili, so much so that he just watched in confusion as Bilbo ran past him and disappeared through the trees (or at least what was left of them). He didn’t have time to stop, to explain, to _apologise_. Valar only knows what they would think when they found out. But Bilbo hoped they understood. At least some of them, if not all. He’d seen the looks they’d shared, the worry for the leader of their company. He hoped they realised that he was doing this to save them, that this was _not_ a betrayal.

That didn’t make it any less painful to hear yells of anger from behind him, and he tried to ignore the twinge in his chest as he ran.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t know how long he ran for, or how far he’d gotten away, but eventually his legs gave out underneath him and he collapsed, only just managing to avoid crushing the eggs as he went down.

He scrambled along the ground, desperately ignoring the burn in his legs, trying to wedge his way underneath a fallen tree for some kind of cover, in case the others were nearby.

He tried to pretend he couldn’t feel the stinging in his eyes, the way his chest ached, and smothered what he’d never admit as a sob into the sleeve of his jacket. He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes closed, and tried to push everything out of his mind, though that struggle seemed to be in vain.

He was too busy sniffling and snivelling that, like the fool he was, he didn’t realise he wasn’t alone until there was no possible way he could escape.

The cold nose pressed into his leg was the only warning he had, and when he jumped, pulling his hand away from his face he froze. For one infinitesimal moment he was certain he’d be ripped limb from limb.

But the creature did nothing, simply stayed staring just as he did.

“Warg,” Bilbo finally managed to bite out, voice high and cracking. The Warg cocked its head to the side at the sound, looking curious.  “Now, I’m not some blockheaded Bracegirdle from Hardbottle, but why I haven’t been eaten yet is a bit of a mystery to me.” And one Warg here meant others must be nearby. But there was no howling, no growling, and as the minutes ticked by, no other Wargs came near. “Are you alone?” Of course the creature didn’t reply, Bilbo hadn’t expected it to.  “You are awful small for a Warg.” He added, only just realising it now. “Is that why you’re alone? You’re a runt?”

The creature whined, nuzzling closer, as if it were cold. “Well, I... I don’t have any food. And don’t you think I’ll be making any omelettes with these.” He gestured to the eggs at his side. “I’ve had one too many suggestions of _that_ , thank you very much.” But the Warg didn’t o for the eggs, it simply curled itself around Bilbo’s legs, looking like it needed the warmth. And Bilbo certainly didn’t mind, so long as he wasn’t eaten. A chill had set into his bones, and at least with someone else here (even a Warg) he could pretend it wasn’t there. That it wasn’t seeping through his body and pulling him apart. “If I go back, they’ll kill me.” He whispered now, fingers curling into the warm fur beside him. “They’ll never forgive me. It’s not...” Bilbo heaved a sigh. “I don’t blame them. They won’t understand. I’m doing this to help them, but they won’t understand.” He closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was still back at the foot of the mountain, by the fire, with the other Dwarves making a raucous in the background.

 

* * *

 

“Bilbo wouldn’t!” Kili insisted urgently, eyes wide and naive. “And... even if he did, I’m sure he had a very good reason for-”

“For what?” Thorin snapped, irate. “Betraying the Company? _Stealing_ from us? Not to mention the fact that what he stole happened to be one of the most dangerous things in the whole of Middle Earth.”

 Kili opened his mouth once more, obviously to continue his adamant defence of his friend, but Thorin was at the end of his tether.

“Enough.” He demanded, flicking his wrist dismissively. “He’ll be too far gone by now for us to catch him.  We need to stay here at the Mountain.” _With our treasure._ It remained unspoken, but very clearly there in the air between them all. “I’ll go on first watch. And if you see the Halfling again,” he called over his shoulder as he retreated back into the Mountain walls, “kill him for his treachery.”

He did not see the look shared between the members of his Company as he left.

It was some time later when Dwalin came down into the treasury, note in hand that had been delivered by raven not minutes before.

“Thorin,” he said gruffly, pointedly ignoring the light in Thorin’s eyes while he gazed upon the treasure. “Dain has sent us word from the Iron Hills. We have a problem.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter, sorry guys!


	14. Mungo

It did not take long before others became aware of the presence of people once more in Erebor, and the fact that there were only thirteen of them only added fuel to the fire. Fighting soon broke out in Iron Hills, a desperate rally for power, and Dain was defeated, being driven out of the city (but not before managing to send warning to his cousin across the way). The rebels were gathering an army, ready to strike and claim the mountain and its innumerable shares of gold and jewels, laden with dust while they waited for their owner to return.

Thorin was unsure of how to defend his home with only thirteen Dwarves and perhaps some men if he visited Lake Town once more. They would surely prosper under Thorin’s rule and would do many things to make him happy. But go to war? It seemed too large a thing to ask. So begrudgingly, he sent Dain and Balin to the Elves to ask for their assistance (Balin would be the diplomat, of course. Dwalin was a good friend and a good warrior, but when it came to these things Thorin knew he would rather torture someone into doing what they wanted rather than talk them around) and to look for the Dragon and ask for help, although that second task was more grasping blindly at straws than anything else. Thorin was certain that even if they _did_ find him, he would burn them to a crisp. Because the creature would know that Thorin attempted to destroy the eggs, and that Bilbo had betrayed them.

“And what of the Halfling?” Balin had asked quietly, snaring Thorin’s attention. “What if we find him on our way?”

“Then you leave him in the ditch he’s dying in,” Thorin snarled, “because he no doubt will be.”

Kili looked crestfallen at the idea of Bilbo being cornered somewhere, dying, but knew better than to say anything. Fili put a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

Balin just nodded his head respectfully, but not before sharing a quick, knowing look with his younger brother. “Aye,” he informed Thorin. “I’ll do that.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long he’d been travelling for. Days, weeks? It felt like forever., especially with two dragon’s eggs and a Warg in tow. He smiled a little at that. At least no one would bother him with Mungo around. He scratched the creatures ear affectionately now. Turns out having a wild beast for company was a good thing. Mungo had caught rabbits and deer and all sorts of things and dragged them back to Bilbo so he could cook them. He also scared off the strange shadows in his peripherals at night, which was also good. Bilbo had never been more thankful to have company. But he still felt lonesome, and depressed, and wondered if he could still turn around and go back, if he should have done something different. He snuffled tears in his sleep and Mungo nuzzled into his side for comfort, but it wasn’t the same. There was no raucous laughter or conversation, no snoring which he had loathed at the beginning of his journey. And when he thought of his home, his now empty, dark, quiet home, it only served to make him more upset. The only family he had left were back at Erebor, and they more than likely wanted him dead and thought of him as a traitor.

What would he even do upon returning home? His relatives were, no doubt, already portioning out his mothers silverware (if they had gotten past the Dwarvish lock Thorin had made for the door, of course), and the thought made his blood boil. But here was here, in the middle of some dead forest, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. How long had he even been gone? Did they think him dead?

He _felt_ more or less dead. Not that it was the same thing.

“At least I’ve got you,” he murmured, stroking Mungo’s head while he sat at his side, protecting him and warming him. He chuckled now. “Imagine the looks I’d get if I brought _you_ home!” He cried now. “I very much doubt Lobelia would ever bother me again. No one would, I don’t think. Maybe Hamfast would come ‘round, if I convinced him you wouldn’t eat him whole.”

Mungo just cocked his head to the side, seemingly curious.

“And I’d feed you only the best bread and cheese. Well, we’ll have to stock up on that, won’t we? Those damned Dwarves ate me out of house and home before we left.” Bilbo had decide that from here on in, the three Durin’s would be titled as ‘Those Damned Dwarves’. He would not speak their names again. And at least if he did, it would be late at night, when the darkness hung heavily around them, and he was locked away in his own room, curled around his blankets, and he could whisper it soundlessly to no one in particular.

He fell asleep feeling slightly better about his situation now that he refused to recall the Dwarrows names.

 

* * *

 

Mungo’s growling woke him up, though not fully. He shifted in his sleep, rolling over, and clutched at the Warg’s fur, making sure he was still there.

“Typical of him to befriend a vicious beast.” Was the grumble he heard next. “What do we do?” He must be dreaming. Of course his traitorous mind would make him dream of the Dwarves.

“We go.” A much older and wiser voice replied. Horses whinnied and he could hear the clap of hooves on the dirt.

“Go?” The first one demanded. “But Thorin said-”

“To leave him," finished the other.

“If he was _dying_.” The first one hissed again, words quieter, like he was leaning over and whispering.

“We have a task to complete, Dwalin. And you will not tell Thorin about him.”

“Doubt it would change his mind anyway.” Dwalin muttered. “He’s already too far gone.”

“Besides, you want to try and pick him up with that beast guarding him?”

“Aye, you’re right, but we could just take the eggs-”

“Thorin would smash ‘em, lad, and then we’d have Smaug’s hot breath on us once more.” A pause. “We leave ‘em be.”

A sigh. “Aye. That does seem for the best. It just don’t feel right letting him wander these woods on his own.”

“He’s got the beast. A fair guard. Perhaps even better than a group of Dwarves for company.” Bilbo was sure he could hear a smile in the words.

“Same table manners, too.” Bilbo found himself muttering before slipping off into sleep fully.

Though he did hear a chortle or too before the blackness took him once more.

When he woke, he was alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! An update!


	15. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my God, this is a crap chapter. I apologise in advance.

He’d heard them before he saw them. Well, not really ‘heard’, he supposed. What had hit his ears was something similar to wind, blowing at the leaves. But it had been enough to have him hiding, peering out to look at the figures that passed by.

Elves. _Lots_ of Elves. With weapons... and _armour_.

What on earth had Thorin done _now_? Suddenly, amusement hit Bilbo, and he felt like laughing. Like rolling on the ground while guffawing. If anyone were to piss of the Elves to the point of war, it would be Thorin. They were gone as fast as they’d came, whispering along the wind quickly, their clothes fluttering behind them, the only thing left to hint at their presence the unearthly feeling that had settled into the trees and ground.

Bilbo managed to sober himself up. Something was wrong. He couldn’t go back. If Thorin found him, he’d be killed, no doubt. And if there was some kind of war, then if Thranduil found him, or one of his men, then he assumed he’d be a prisoner.

He knew that Smaug would be near, waiting for his eggs to hatch, before leaving for the Sundering Seas. Surely a dragon couldn’t hide all that well. After all, the sheer _size_ would make it almost impossible. Perhaps Smaug could find _him_ ; perhaps Smaug already knew where he was, keeping a watchful, and fire-like eye on his unborn children. His hand tightened in Mungo’s fur, and he called out, voice wavering: “Smaug?” At first there was nothing, just silence and the magic the Elves had left behind, lingering in the air. And then it changed, strengthening, thickening, making Bilbo feel like the temperature was rising, the heat pushed again him, stirring through his hair, leasing him forwards, and he climbed over fallen logs and sticks and rocks, following it. The wind pushed at him, nudging like ethereal arms, attaching and tangling themselves round his limbs, carrying him off to Mahal only knows where. He didn’t know how long he walked for, or how far he went, but the heat had gotten so unbearable now, and the wind kept pushing, as if urging him for the last few steps, and he felt it blow to a stop, curling off and whispering away.

“You called for me?” The voice was there, all around him, making the earth at his feet tremble from the vibrations, but he couldn’t see him.

“Something is happening in Erebor.”

“There is a war.” Smaug spoke as if they were discussing the weather. “This is what you call me for?”

“What kind of war?” Bilbo asked, instead of answering.

“The other Iron Dwarrows want to take the treasure you travelled to receive. They have already arrived.”

“Dain’s men? From the Iron Hills?”

“Dain does not lead them anymore.”

Bilbo felt his stomach tighten. “We have to help them.”

“The Elves have given aid.” Smaug had said, as if that was that.

“But surely that’s not enough. You said they’ve already arrived. The Elves are still travelling.”

“You defend them?” Smaug sneered. “I am aware of what happened, so your reaction confuses me.”

“They don’t deserve to be slaughtered for it!” Bilbo insisted. “Once they lay Erebor to waste, they’ll surely search the rest of the woods- and they’ll find me. They’ll find your eggs. And they will not wait as long as Thorin did to destroy them.”

“And what do you expect me to do?”

“Help me. Help _them_.”

“And when the battle is over? When he has won and stills remains controlled by the gold? Because this is no silly children’s tale, little creature, that is what will happen.”

“Then I will hit him over the head and hope for the best. I will not leave him.” _Could not_ , more like.

Smaug let out a bellowing laugh. “Very altruistic of you. But it will be hardly as easy as all that.”

“I will not leave him.” Bilbo simply repeated. “The others are not under the sickness, they will listen to reason, and they will be thankful for your help. Even Thorin will be indebted to you.”

“And what will he promise? Not to harm my children? He has already gone against his word. In fact, I’ve always been of the belief that the word of a Durin means nothing.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“Because of the word of a Baggins.”

“Then take the word of a Baggins again.” Bilbo urged him. “Please. People will die- innocent people. People who don’t have to.”

“People always die. It is a rite of passage we all take.”

“But not prematurely. There are boys in the mountain. Children. They have done nothing wrong. They are as innocent as your own children.”  Bilbo huffed, closing his eyes. “I gave up what I considered to be my only family so I could save your children. Help me.”

For a long time there was silence. “A dragon does not like to be in debt.” Came the growl. “I will help. But the same fire that kills your enemies will turn on you if my children are harmed.”

Bilbo sighed in relief. “They will not be harmed.” He promised, opening his eyes once more. “I will make certain of it.”

“Return to your Mountain, small creature. I will return with help.”

 

* * *

 

The battle was already raging when he returned. He had never seen such violence before, of course. He was from The Shire and the most bloody anything had ever gotten was that one time when Hamfast accidentally stood on one of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins prize winning flowers.

Bilbo ran on his aching feet through the chaos, darting between and through warriors, Mungo at his heels. Which was rather useful, especially when a fierce looking Dwarrow had swung his axe at him, and Bilbo had skidded, feet slipping in mud and blood, and fell to the ground. Mungo had snarled and lunged, jumping onto the Dwarrow and ripping his throat out before coming back over to Bilbo, tail wagging, blood smeared over its teeth and muzzle. “Good boy.” Bilbo scratched behind his ears briefly before scrambling back to his feet, dragon eggs still in hand.

He saw him then, Kili that is, who was valiantly trying to take on two Dwarrows who had crowded him against some rocks. Kili had always been much better at archery than swordplay, and had always jested about perhaps being spirited away from the elves at birth and given to his mother as a present. Bilbo’s feet were moving before he could realise, and he ran straight into the back of one, pushing him into the other. Bilbo had always been quite lucky, which is why he assumed the second Dwarrow accidentally impaled the first before toppling over and into a fighting group nearby. 

“Kili!”

“It’s nothing it’s nothing!” Kili tried to wave him off, well, he would have if both his hands weren’t pressed to his stomach, blood welling through the fingers. “I’ve had worse, Bilbo, honestly,” his words became vaguer and he slipped backwards, passing out against a rock. He had been right, of course. It bled profusely, but the gash wasn’t deep or too long. Bilbo hastily pulled out his handkerchief and made an impromptu bandage, and if anyone else were here to see it, he would have told them that ‘ _Yes, see? Handkerchiefs are useful things_ ’.

A shrieking noise in the sky caught his attention, and through the clouds he could see large figures moving. _Smaug_ , and he _had_ brought help. A fair amount of it, from what Bilbo could tell. He had heard of them in stories before, and he knew what they were immediately. He had to let the others know- know that help was here. “The Eagles are coming!” he shouted, voice loud but hoarse. “The Eagles are-”

He doesn’t remember finishing the sentence.

 

 


	16. The Gilded Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a big thank you to everyone who's been commenting, leaving kudos, or just reading! This chapter is for ManhattanMom, who's been very encouraging.

The first thing he thought when he woke up was that his feet _ached_. He must have mumbled so, because a choked sort of laugh filled the air and something touched his arm.

“Where am I?” he couldn’t open his eyes just yet. He was too tired, too sore.

“You’re safe,” came the answer. There was a rocking sort of movement and then the voice spoke again. “I’m taking you to the encampment. Oin set up some tents with the Elves for the injured to go to.”

“Oin?” his voice was still hoarse.

“Yes.”

Bilbo felt himself frown, and his eyes opened briefly to take in the sky and the ground, caked with dead men and blood. “Talking to Elves?”

Another laugh. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Did we win?”

“Yeah,” Kili breathed, “we won. Or else I wouldn’t be carrying you to get medical help.”

“Am I dying?” The words were slurred.

“I don’t know. You were bleeding a lot from the nose. Oin told me something about brain injuries, so I thought you might already be dead.” Kili’s voice was strained.

“Well, I’m not.” Bilbo replied eventually. “M’ head does hurt, though.”

“It’s okay,” Kili assured him, “you’ll be fine.”

Bilbo thought that if this didn’t kill him, then Thorin sure would. “The eggs?” he wondered now, suddenly remembering.

“Stop that,” Kili ordered, shifting him in his arms as he struggled to get up. “They’re fine. I’ve got them, too, but I won’t if you keep rocking.”

Bilbo stilled. “Kili?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” and then he passed out again.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve killed him.”

“He’s not dead, Thorin.” Dwalin’s words sounded like they were accompanied by an eye roll.

“You should have found him sooner. We could have kept him away while the fight was raging.”

“Would have come out anyway.” Bilbo murmured, rolling over. He wasn’t dead yet, so he assumed it was safe to speak.

Dwalin snorted. “He’s right about that.”

Bilbo slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the light. “Kili?” He pressed a hand to his face, blotting out the brightness.

“Just wounded,” Dwalin replied.

“Water, please?” Thorin helped him as he struggled to sit up before handing him a cup. “Thank you.” The liquid was cool and refreshing and his throat didn’t feel so scratchy when he finished.

For a while they were quiet, and Bilbo lowered his hands, trying to acclimatise himself with the space around him. He looked at Thorin and then to Dwalin with narrowed eyes. “Am I a prisoner?”

“Yes,” was Thorin’s reply. “But you’re a very comfortable one, and you ought to take that into account.” There was still a feverish light to Thorin’s eyes, a darkness to his demeanour.

“Are you going to kill me?” Bilbo wondered, speaking slowly and watching him carefully.

“No.” Thorin informed him. “I was going to at first, and then I decided against it.”

“In other words, Dwalin talked you out of it?”

There was another snort. Thorin turned and looked over his shoulder. “Leave us for a moment.” he ordered.

Dwalin nodded and did as he was asked, disappearing through the flap of the tent. Bilbo watched it flick closed behind him.

Thorin waited a moment before speaking again. “You little fool.” He sighed, sinking down onto the bed beside Bilbo. “You could have died.”

“Strange coming from someone who admitted they were going to kill me.”

“I was going to kill you,” he agreed, raisin a finger and touching one of Bilbo’s curls. “You stole my treasure. But Dwalin pointed out you are entitled to your share of it, and if that is the eggs, then that is your choice.”

“That’s very... reasonable of you.” Bilbo managed. “Are you alright?” Thorin _seemed_ fine, apart from the sickly air he had to him. He had abandoned his usual attire of furs and armour for his tunic and breeches. He had bandages along his arms, and he had a bruise under one eye. He looked tired.

“I am fine. As are the others. Merely wounds. We have persevered. The men of Laketown came to our aid along with the Elves,” he spoke the word with distaste, “and we have sent word to our kin in the Blue Mountains about our victory. Soon the Mountain will be full and bustling once again, like it should be.” Thorin’s face hardened slightly, and his hand fell away. “You are still a prisoner though.” He reiterated, getting to his feet. “You betrayed me.”

“You don’t understand it, or like it, but I helped you. If you’d destroyed those eggs Smaug would have come here and burnt you to a crisp. And, as you now know, the Dwarves of Iron Hills would have claimed Erebor and dragged your burnt corpse from your throne, throwing it over the side of the mountain.” Thorin didn’t seem to appreciate Bilbo’s wording. “And I’ll have you know I went to Smaug for help soon as I realised what was going on.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “You do not need to explain yourself. I understand you had your reasons. And now that I have calmed down, I see that the dragons can be useful. They will hatch and protect us. And your, ah... _pet_ here, wouldn’t have let me touch you even if I wanted to.”

It was only then that Bilbo noticed the warmth against his legs. He looked down to find Mungo curled at his side.

“Mungo!” His face split into a grin, and it hurt his head, but he didn’t care. “I found him in the forest, he was all alone, and he looked quite hungry, and I think we bonded.” He ran his hands through the creature’s matted fur. “So, if you’re not going to kill me, what _are_ you going to do?”

“I told you,” Thorin informed him. “You are my prisoner.”

“You mean, I-I’m to remain here? In Erebor? As a prisoner?”

“You will be treated well for a prisoner. I wouldn’t have parted from you anyway,” Thorin continued casually, with a wave of his hand, “were circumstances different.”

“And the eggs?” He’d _said_ they were useful, but...

Thorin gestured to the other side of the tent, where the two dragon eggs were nestled on top of a blanket. “We will look after them. Or you can keep them with you if you wish.” Bilbo was silent for a while. “You will not argue?” Thorin wondered now.

“I have nothing for me at home.” He said, and he didn’t. It had only just occurred to him now, but what _did_ he have in The Shire? An empty house? Furniture. “And I have no choice in the matter, do I?” He could think of worse fates. He wasn't sure he would have been able to return home anyway, after all this, and leave them behind here, return to his home and remember the noises that used to fill it.

Thorin seemed pleased. “You will be able to walk freely within the Mountain walls, of course. No further, though.” Well, it was certainly better than being beheaded, he had to admit. “When Kili had found me after the battle and told me you were hurt, I had thought the worst,” he sighed, “I thought that perhaps my reaction had been too strong,” he pressed a hand flat against Bilbo’s stomach. “That I did not hate you, just the wounds you had given me with your actions.”

“Thorin-”

“Hush,” he silenced Bilbo with a kiss to his lips. “You have agreed to stay, to never leave," he murmured now, pressing their foreheads together. "That is all we needed to talk about for now.”

“You’ve never kissed me before.” Bilbo murmured through his lips.

“You nearly died. You _could_ have died. I could have killed you.” He said it as if it explained everything, and Bilbo supposed it did.

Thorin pulled away abruptly. “I will leave you for now.” He said, getting to his feet. “You have others who wish to visit you.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “You seem sick.”

Thorin laughed, though it didn’t sound right.  “I am better than I ever have been, dear Bilbo." Bilbo found he did not believe the words at all. "I have my Mountain and my gold and now I have you.”

Bilbo tried not to flinch at the way Thorin said it, like he was some sort of trophy or possession Thorin had been given.

He found it clear and alarming that even if the battle was over and won, that there were many more problems yet to be solved.

 

* * *

 

“A gilded cage?” He asked.

“Exactly,” Bofur had replied with a smile. “Oin is certain we can find a way to cure his sickness. He just needs time, and distractions.”

“And I’m a distraction?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

It had been weeks since the battle, and Bilbo’s wounds had all but healed now. Men and Dwarves had come from all over to help with the rebuilding of Erebor, and even the Elves agreed to lend a hand. Fili and Kili did most of the work, leaving Thorin to bury himself in old papers and treasure and the deep bowels of the mountain which had once been filled with miners.

“So,” Bilbo said now, considering, “we’ll both be prisoners?”

“Not like that,” Bofur’s face fell a little. “You’re not really prisoner at all. Well, you can’t _leave_ ,” he continued when Bilbo simply raised an eyebrow, “but that doesn’t make you a prisoner. This is your home now.”

Bilbo made a face. “And Thorin won’t notice?”

“He doesn’t notice much these days. He hasn’t realised how much time has passed, and he’s becoming more and more vacant.” Bilbo had noticed the light to Thorin’s eyes become brighter as the weeks had passed. He seemed more disorientated and confused. Sometimes the sun set and he frowned at it, like he hadn’t realised a whole day had gone by.

“We have to do something.” Bofur was insisting.

Bilbo sighed. “You’re right,” he said now. “We have to do something.”

 

 


	17. A Happily-Unhappy sort of Ending

The years in Erebor passed quickly, and once it was fully restored to its proper glory, it became just as bustling and popular as it had been before.

He was older now, and his bones had begun to creak when he stretched in the morning. His hair was going grey and he had a bit of trouble seeing. Sometimes when he reached up for one of the books on the higher shelves in the library, his back cracked painfully. He looked himself in the mirror each morning, and with more certainty decided he looked like his father. At least, what he remembered of him anyway.

He still cried some nights, thinking about The Shire, and his empty home, and his mother’s plates, but he was needed here. He had things to do here.

The door to his quarters creaked when he opened it, and Thorin looked up from the other side of the room near the fire, expression vague.

“You left?” he asked, frowning in confusion.

Bilbo crossed the room, stopping at his side and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Only for a moment.” He set the books he’d gotten down on the table. Thorin’s hair was now greyer than it was black, and he had tired lines around his eyes. “What are you doing?” Bilbo already knew the answer. He was doing what he did every morning.

“Looking at the treasury accounts.” He ran his fingers over the paper almost reverently, before reaching out and touching Bilbo’s arm in a similar manner. “Have I been reading very long?”

“Not at all.” Bilbo told him, tucking some hair behind his ear. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Thorin’s eyes still held the same cloudy sort of feverish light, although these days it was more a murky sort of confusion.  He forgot things: little things, or big things, or unimportant things. Bilbo often found him wandering the halls, a frown on his face, unsure as to how he even got where he was. He even had trouble recognising his nephews now. He’d look at them, and his brow would furrow, and he’d ask; _“Frerin?”_

Sometimes Bilbo found him down in the treasury; pacing and muttering, not realising he’d been down there all day. One of the guards would go and notify Bilbo and he’d have to go down there to bring Thorin back up.

And he’d put a hand on Thorin’s arm, jostling him gently back into reality with soft words and an even softer smile.

_“Did I lose track of the time again?” Thorin would wonder, allowing Bilbo to take him by the hand and lead him back up the stairs._

_“Only just,” Bilbo would inform him gently._

But as of late Bilbo was finding it hard to climb down and up that long set of stairs.

Sometimes Thorin would look at him oddly, as if he hadn’t realised Bilbo had gone so grey. That the lines around his face had gotten deeper, more pronounced. That he spent more time in bed than he used to. _“You don’t have to be down there all the time, you know.” Bilbo had told him one day after going to fetch him. He’d gratefully taken the seat by the fire, exhausted, and scratched behind Mungo’s ears. “The dragons take care of that sort of thing.” Smaug’s offspring had stayed, of course, after hatching from their eggs. Bilbo had washed them and fed them and raised them until they’d become so unreasonably large that Thorin had insisted they stop sleeping at the foot of their bed. Which, Bilbo supposed, was a reasonable request. That didn’t mean he had to like it, though._

_So they’d been moved down into the treasury, to snuffle about the gold and jewels and guard the Arkenstone, which no longer sat above the Throne, but instead atop a large pile of treasure, out of sight from most._

_Thorin seemed displeased with the idea. “Dragons are not to be trusted. Not fully.”_

_Bilbo just rolled his eyes. “Stop pacing and come and sit down, you silly Dwarrow.”_

_Thorin paused for a moment, looking down at his feet as if he hadn’t known he was even moving, before moving to the chair across from Bilbo’s and settling down. “I did not see you this morning.” The furrow in his brow had gotten deeper._

_“I went to the markets.”_

_“I’d thought you’d gone.”_

_“I think you’ll remember,” the words were said with a smile, though Bilbo felt heaviness with them, “that I am not allowed to leave.”_

_Thorin relaxed a little. “Just because it’s not allowed doesn’t mean you might not want to try.”_

_“I do not want anything of the such.” Bilbo had assured him. “After all this time you’d think you’d remember that.”_

_The cloudy look came over Thorin’s face again. “It hasn’t been that long.”_

_Bilbo wanted to counter that ten years was a long time, but thought better of it. The last time he’d mentioned it, offhandedly and innocently, it hadn’t worked out all that well. Thorin didn’t seem to notice the time passing, nor did he notice the way Bilbo had aged._

_He’d reached out and touched Bilbo’s arm, in the same reverent way he did when he was grazing his fingers over his gold. His eyes were shadowed by something dark._

_Bilbo caught his hand. Thorin’s eyes cleared a little._

Thorin was getting to his feet, pushing back the chair he’d been sitting on. “I’d better go down to the treasury and-”

“Thorin,” Bilbo cut him off gently, stopping him in his tracks. “You did that already.”

For a moment he looked so confused and vulnerable that it positively broke Bilbo’s heart. “Oh,”

“Come now,” Bilbo took his hand. “Why don’t we go and get some fresh air?”

Thorin still remembered the way to the balcony at the edge of the mountain that looked over the stretch of land and the bustle below in the town of Dale. It was a lot different now. The trees had grown back and instead of the barren black wasteland they had found upon first coming here, there were green lands and farms and animals roaming.

“I did not realise it would recover so fast.” Thorin mused, watching carefully. Bilbo didn’t reply. What would he say to that anyway? _It’s been a great deal longer than you think it has_. That would no doubt gain a very bad reaction. Oin had said that it was best they keep Thorin in his own world as much as possible. And by ‘best’, of course, it meant ‘safer for everyone involved’. So instead Bilbo just pushed some stray hair back over his ear and looked down at the scenery with The King under the Mountain who was not in fact The King under the Mountain anymore. He tried not to think about what would happen after he died. Because although Thorin was so much older than he was, he would almost certainly outlast Bilbo. But he didn’t need to think about that just yet.

For now he could just lean into him and enjoy the warmth of his body and watch the people down below who looked small, like ants.

“You like it here, don’t you, Bilbo?” Thorin sounded slightly urgent.

“Of course I do. I still miss The Shire, of course,” he continued with a small smile, “but I’m needed here.”

That seemed to appease him somewhat. “You are.” He agreed, and they fell into silence once more.

Bilbo leaned more heavily against Thorin in content, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo kept his eyes closed. “Hmm?”

“What do you think about children?”

Bilbo thought about two small, bright-eyed children, both taken by sickness in their first years. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut and didn’t remind Thorin. “I love children,” he managed, voice only shaking slightly. “Very much.”

Thorin hummed an agreement. “I am glad you’re here.” He announced after a slight pause.

Bilbo smiled. “I am, as well.” Regardless of everything. “I love you.”

He looked up to find Thorin smiling as well, his eyes less murky than they had been for the past few months.

“I love you, too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am so sorry! I should have asked Kit_Kat if they wanted a happy ending or not, but this just sort of took on a sad tone. If you think it ended too early, I'm sorry, but I'm having a bit of trouble finishing these larger stories at the moment, and if it's hard for me to finish, it's no doubt hard for you to read. Plus, I'm not exactly writing award winning epic stories here, so it shouldn't matter anyway.   
> But I'm finally done, so there you go! Hope you enjoyed it!


	18. The Halls of Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Shizukesa suggested a scene where Thorin wakes in the Halls of Waiting after passing. So here it is!

Thorin woke up.

For the first time in what felt like a very long time, he felt… clear. Unhazed by smoke or shadow. And then he remembered.

The battle.

_“I’ve killed him.”_

_“He’s not dead, Thorin.” Dwalin’s words sounded like they were accompanied by an eye roll._

The madness.

_"You mean, I-I’m to remain here? In Erebor? As a prisoner?”_

And for such a long time, he was so lost, swept up in the same folly that had taken his ancestors: the poison that had seeped through his mind and taken over his body and soul.

But Bilbo had been there, taking his hand and clearing some of the smoke away. They had children, he remembered, but he could not recall what they looked like, and when they had gone, Thorin had forgotten them completely, leaving Bilbo to bear the weight of their deaths alone. Another thing he could never forgive himself for. It was beginning to become a very long list.

Then just as quickly Bilbo he’d been there, he was gone. Swept away like a puff of smoke from a pipe. And Thorin was lost once more.

And for many years he remained that way, roaming, muttering to himself, searching for someone who wasn’t there. Gold held no real interest to him, and instead he took up the quest of looking for something he’d lost but didn’t remember he’d lost.

But now he was awake, and his mind was clear. But he did not know where he was.

The last thing he remembered was going to sleep, his body heavy and his eyelids drooping.

“Well, it’s about time.” The voice came from behind him. “I’ve been waiting for a while, you know.” He was taping his foot, his arms crossed over his chest, the very vision of everything Thorin remembered of him. There was a sly smile on his lips. “You know I don’t like being kept waiting.”

Thorin felt a tangle of words caught in his throat, things he wanted to say all at once that seemed to catch on each other.

“Fifty years, Thorin.” Bilbo continued now, sighing theatrically. “That’s a very long time to wait, you know.”

Thirty years. They had been together for thirty years before the cold of the Mountain had taken Bilbo, as it had taken their children. And- Mahal, how could he have forgotten?

“I mean, I know you Dwarves like to take your time with things,” he went on, rolling his eyes, “I certainly recall one too many times when you used all the hot water in the baths up. But that doesn’t mean you get to keep me waiting. _Me_. Honestly.”

Thorin let out a strangled noise, all but throwing himself at Bilbo’s feet, pressing his face into his stomach, his arms wrapping around his waist.

Bilbo chuckled now. “I had a long while to imagine how you’d react when you got here- but I have to admit, I never thought it’d be like _this_.”

“I hurt you,” was all Thorin could manage through the aching pain in his head and in his chest.

He heard Bilbo sigh, and gentle hands carded through Thorin’s hair. “You did, yes. But you weren’t yourself, and I forgave you for that a long time ago.” He coaxed Thorin’s face up. “I would have stayed anyway,” he informed him now. “I wouldn’t have had the heart to leave you all.”

Thorin couldn’t look him in the eyes. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

Bilbo laughed at him, cupping his face in his hands. “You silly Dwarf. Of course I had to. We’ll be waiting for your nephews next, and then my own, I imagine. Dwalin and Balin are already here, though I suppose you already knew that. And Bombur looks like he’s coming next- it’s all those pastries, you know. It looks to me like Ori will be the last, though that must be to his irking,” he smirked. “Dwalin is very impatient about the whole thing as well. At least I do not have to wait as long as he seems to be waiting.”

Thorin wondered if perhaps he were dreaming some fantasy that would cruelly be ripped from him when he woke. He was not sure if he could bear it.

“You ought to get off your knees now,” Bilbo sounded highly amused.”People might talk about that.”

“I ought to grovel for the next hundred years.” Thorin said finally, now having found his words, ashamed.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied with a pleased smile. “You should," he stroked the small scar above Thorin's left eyebrow. "But that’s highly irrational, isn’t it?” he paused, as if trying to gauge something, before speaking again, his face slightly more sombre. “Frís and Dein are here as well.”

Thorin felt it hard to swallow at the mention of his children. It pained him to admit that as time had passed, he had forgotten their faces, and even their presence. He had forgotten almost everyone. His nephews, his friends. But he never forgot Bilbo's face, even after he'd gone. It was all he'd ever dream of, all he ever understood.

“Would you like to see them?” Bilbo asked him, pushing his hair out of his face. Thorin found it hard to believe that Bilbo could look down on him with such love in his eyes, after everything that had happened.

Thorin nodded. “Very much,” he managed, allowing Bilbo to pull him up onto his feet.

“There are others you’re probably eager to see, as well,” he pottered on as he tugged Thorin along. “Your brother, for instance, who has told me a few very embarrassing stories. And your mother and father and grandfather, as well."

Thorin decided that if he was dreaming, it was a very nice dream indeed.

And if not, if his torture had ended and he had finally passed into the halls of waiting- then that was even better. He was wait for the world to be renewed and finally do things right this time.

 

 


End file.
